“ONE…TWO…THREE…GO!”
Kallie squealed and took off running. I lumbered along behind her, pretending I couldn’t keep up, right at her heels as I chased her through the soft grass in our backyard. She was barefoot, that wild mane of blonde curls flying behind her. A belly full of giggles released into the air as she threw her head back and laughed.
She raised both her hands in the air when she crossed the finish line, which was nothing more than a hose stretched out over the lawn. “I win, Momma! I win!”
She danced around in delightful four-year-old celebration.
From behind, I tackled her, my movements gentle—protective—filled with every ounce of love I held for her as I tumbled with her to the ground.
Nothing ever felt more right than holding my daughter in the safety of my arms.
“No fair,” I teased, finding the strength from inside myself to smile down at her adorable face when she grinned up at me, a row of perfect tiny teeth exposed. I ran my knuckle down her chubby cheek. “You’re way too fast for me.”
She giggled more and lifted her shoulders the way she always did, scrunching up her cute little nose. “You’re way, way fast, too, Momma.”
God, how much did I love this child? My heart swam full, overflowing with devotion. Though I couldn’t stop the way each of those emotions felt heavy, soaked and sodden by those other bits that had come alive with him, struck down before they ever had a chance live.
I kissed her forehead. “It’s getting late. Mommy needs to get ready for work.”
“Oh man,” she pouted, then jumped up in the same second that her sweet brown eyes filled with excitement, as if she’d been struck with a sudden realization. She tugged at my hand to help me to stand, jumping around at the same time. “Auntie April said I get to help her make s’ghetti tonight! It’s my favorite.” She accentuated the word in a relish of country flare.
My mouth dropped open in mock offense. “What? You’re having spaghetti for dinner without me? Now that really is no fair.”
Pulling impatiently at my hand, she ran ahead of me up the three steps onto the whitewashed back porch, through the large French doors leading into the family room, and down the short hall that made a T at the formal living room and the door to the kitchen. She prattled the entire way. “Don’t worry, Momma, I’ll make so, so, so much and then I’ll put it in your special bowl and put your name on it in the fridge, then you can eat it all gone when you get home.”
Kallie swung the kitchen door open, grinning back at me as she ran inside.
“You better! You know how starving I am when I get home from work.”
April was at the island butcher block, chopping tomatoes and onions, swaying to the country song playing on the little radio on the counter. Her grin was wide when she caught onto our conversation. “That is if this little one doesn’t eat it all first. She’s been eating like a monster lately.”
Kallie giggled and held her chubby belly. “I not a monster!”
“Are you sure?” April teased her. “It sure seems like you might have turned into a monster to me. I think you just might eat the whole house.”
“No way! It’s just ’cause I’m getting so, so big. I’m gonna be five, you know.”
Affectionate laughter rippled from April, and she smiled across at me, before she directed her attention right back to Kallie. “Why don’t you run upstairs and wash your hands and then you can help me get dinner started. Deal?”
“Deal!”
In a flurry, Kallie flung the door open and darted back out, her little feet pounding on the hardwood floors, becoming a distant echo as she barreled up the stairs.
The moment she disappeared, my hand shot out to the counter to steady myself. It felt as if my insides were being contorted by the effort it took to pretend I still remembered how to fully breathe in front of my daughter. My head dropped, and I swallowed down some of the agony trying to work itself up and out, this overwhelming, shocking grief that I’d been completely unprepared for.
It only throbbed in the well of my chest, pressing firm and fast and ferocious, the aftermath of loving too freely and losing too soon.
God, it was the truth.
I wasn’t prepared.
Wasn’t prepared for how this was actually going to feel.
Something bitter tried to take hold.
Pretending.
I guess Sebastian had me pretending, too. That was the part that hurt the most. He couldn’t even admit what we’d shared was real. Even if neither of us had been straightforward about the outside forces affecting our lives, that didn’t make it anything less.